


Secret Sister

by XxSilverxX



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxSilverxX/pseuds/XxSilverxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual string of murders draws the attention of Sherlock and John, and they quickly figure out its the works of a master assassin. Upon further investigation, Sherlock finds out it's the work of his sister, who was long thought to be dead. Can Sherlock find her and reveal the truth of her deceitful childhood before she kills again? Or is Riley destined to be a killer for life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Sister

Sherlock and Mycroft's sister was kidnapped from a playground when she was 6 years old. She grew up in isolation to become the world's top assassin. The parents told her brothers she died from falling off top of a slide because they couldn't face the truth. Riley was raised on the lie that her family was killed in a car accident.

As an adult, she comes to London on orders from her employer and kills three guards [at the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison, Bank of England] in one night by silencer gun to the head. Sherlock and John go to investigate each scene and Sherlock is [shockingly] unable to find any helpful clues as to who the killer was. "However…due to the lack of physical evidence, our killer is clearly a highly skilled & trained assassin to have gotten in and out without being seen. They're an expert at covering their tracks as well as efficient since using a silencer draws little attention. Point-blank-range shots leave the least amount of blood splatters, which means our killer is either merciless or emotionless – though the latter seems more likely. They came in through the windows and left fingerprints, but smudged them away, meaning the gloves worn – if any – must've been fingerless. But then why bother wearing them at all? Unless they were a significant part of the weaponry. They're taunting us by leaving a smudged since it shows they were here but gives no way to find out who exactly they are."

At the last crime scene Sherlock finds a strand of hair and gives it to Lestrade telling him it needs to go to Barts immediately. He and John later get a call from a very confused Molly Hooper. "I-I don't understand, this can't be right. The killer must be a-a ghost or something." "What do you mean?" "Our records say this person has been dead for almost 25 years. This hair strand shouldn't even exist." Sherlock and John head straight to the hospital and look at the DNA scanner. The name that appears turns Sherlock's face white and without a word to either John or Molly he calls Mycroft. "Illa vivente." Flustered with confusion, John hurriedly follows Sherlock out to the street but Sherlock turns to him and tells him to go back to the flat; he'll explain everything later.

When Sherlock does finally return John is waiting with a pot of tea brewing. He has a distant expression on his face – one that John has never seen before. "John, that name we saw today…at Bart's. Riley." "Yes? What about it?" "It…I don't know how, but…it's the name…of…my sister." John chokes on his tea and takes a minute to cough. Sherlock leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and clapped hands on his lips. " _What_? But you don't have a sister." "I did. She supposedly died by falling off a playground set when we were children, according to my parents. But there was never any proof; no body, no witnesses, not even a funeral." "And your parents didn't do anything to find her?" "Oh, I suspect they did, but she just disappeared and they couldn't bear facing the truth. So they fed us a lie that they convinced themselves to believe." "What do you think happened to her?" "She's alive, which can only mean she was kidnapped back then and for some reason has been trained to be an assassin." John stares at Sherlock. "So…what does this all mean then? For the case?" Sherlock's piercing gaze matches his worried voice. "Riley was never a quick thinker like Mycroft and I, but she was still just as smart. The fact that she is a killer makes her more dangerous than any criminal we've faced."

The next day, John and Sherlock are woken early by a call from Lestrade. "There's been another one." This time, when they get to the crime scene, Sherlock is shocked by the drastic change in MO. A contact shot to the head had created quite a mess and various marks were left on the victim's body. Sherlock quickly identifies the marks as ones from steel blades. "The angle of these slashes here suggests our killer is right handed since they penetrate deeper on the body." As Sherlock continues to inspect, Lestrade sends everyone (except John) out of the room for a moment. Sherlock turns to him with a cold glare. "Must we do this at a crime scene, Detective?" "I heard a rumor circulating about our mystery assassin. Wanted to check if they were true or not." "Whatever you think you heard, you _didn't_ ," Sherlock snarls. "Now, our assassin has an arsenal of at least 15 weapons, probably more. The smudges on the walls and desk are from a smoke bomb mixed with traces of poison. Not enough to be deadly, but enough to let us know she has it. The holes in the chair are from guns of different calibers, and the width of the slash marks indicates multiple blades." "What sort of assassin reveals her entire arsenal like that?" "The sort that likes to boast, the sort that think it's all a game. She knows she can't be caught." "Who is she? You've both said that at least twice now, but I've not a clue who you're–" John shoots Lestrade a look, and he falls silent for a moment. "It doesn't matter who our killer is. If they're human, they're not invincible." "If our killer is blood related to _me_ , then she just might be," Sherlock snaps. He storms out of the room, leaving Lestrade in stunned silence

When they're outside, John asks what the plan is, Sherlock rolls his eyes "What plan? You can't catch someone who's a master of evasion. She's been doing this all her life, John. Riley will have an escape plan no matter what we do." "At least now you know she's alive." "That's hardly a positive note considering she's an assassin." They walk towards the flat in silence. "How old were you?" "What?" "When Riley was kidnapped, how old were you?" "Eight at the time. She was only six, though I don't see how that's related." "She didn't just vanish into thin air, Sherlock. You know she's alive, and if we can't catch her, you might as well find out how she survived or who took her." Sherlock says nothing. "Whoever took her knew your family well. Maybe a-a-a family doctor or something." "Gregor." "I'm sorry?" "Doctor Gregor, our pediatrician, would've been a good shot but he's been dead three years now John. Unless…his files, yes, his files would have the name. It seemed odd at the time, but now – of course, it all makes sense! Come John!" "Sherlock what are you talking about?" They hail a taxi. "Wellington Hospital, on the double." "Sherlock!" "His assistant, John! Gregor had an intern for a month before he up and left, during which we had four appointments; three due to Riley's sprained wrist and one for Mycroft's fever. Never saw him again after that, but he had access to all of our records." "So…what, you think he drugged Riley so he could kidnap her?" "Possibly." "Why would a physician kidnap some girl he's never met?" "That's what we're going to find out, John."

An hour later, after a few phone calls, Sherlock and John stand at a desk with a file in hand. Sherlock flips through the pages quickly, eyes scanning. "Adrian Cruentus. Worked at Wellington for two months before requesting a transfer to Barts. Stayed there for another six months before getting fired for too many 'accidents' involving young patients." "So he found his target at Wellington, then moved to Barts to experiment on the children there." "Yes. He was likely testing the lethality of the drug he planned to use, but if too many children died during his experimentation, then he couldn't have done that. So then what, _what_ did he do?" John's phone rings with a call from Lestrade telling them there's been another murder, similar to all the others. They go to investigate to find this one is just like the first three – point blank shot to the head. "There has to be a connection between her targets. Whoever is giving her orders is trying to send a message." "You think it's Cruentus?" Lestrade's head snaps up at the name. "Cruentus?" "You know him?" John asks. "Yea, he's an Assistant Commissioner over at the Yard. Just transferred in last week." "What? He's a doctor _and_ a policeman? That's impossible." "Not necessarily. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. He could be both identities with the right connections, John. Lestrade, we need to speak with him immediately." Lestrade looks hesitant and suspicious. "I don't have the authority to get you a meeting with him, as much as I–" "Five people are _dead_ , Inspector, and more will die unless you do as I say." Lestrade stares Sherlock down for a moment. "You do realize if this blows up in your face, it could cost me my career?" "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't, Detective."

The minute Sherlock and John walk into Cruentus' office, Sherlock stops dead in his tracks. Adrian slowly turns his chair around to face them, a sneer spreading across his lips. "Sherlock Holmes. It's been a while." "Indeed it has…Ambassador Vector." "Good to see you still recognize me." John looks back and forth between the two of them in confusion. "Hang on, he's an ambassador too? For who?" " _Who_ doesn't matter; it's _how_. Don't you see, John? He doesn't have just two titles. Adrian is a shadow that moves through the ranks of the corporate world, taking the names and titles that no one would dare investigate further. He then uses these identities to advance himself and others in his circle to a higher power. The question is, on whose authority?" "My, my, you _are_ good, Mr. Holmes." Adrian stands up, circling around to the other side of his desk. "As you said so yourself, anything's possible with the right connections, though I'm afraid my current employer will have to remain…anonymous. For now." Sherlock's eyes narrow, though he stays silent. Adrian reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. "I assume you're here to ask me about your sister, Riley. Perhaps how I took her? You already know I did, but you can't prove it." "I don't care how. I want to know _why_." "Why? Because I could. A curious, emotionally unstable, six year old girl makes for an easy target." John's fist clenches up. He's tempted to sock the man in the mouth, but a look from Sherlock stops him. "She was very willing to help a distressed father look for his lost daughter. Young girls are quite prone to being sensitive to that sort of thing." "You sick–" John takes a step forward, but Sherlock stops him. "That was 25 years ago, John. Focus on the present." "Sherlock, he's insane. We have to do something." "Why her?" Adrian looks at Sherlock curiously. "You knew about Mycroft and I - that we were far more intelligent than her - yet you went after Riley instead. Why?" Adrian laughs out loud. "Oh please, I would expect you to have figured that one out on your own, Sherlock. Why would I target a child that can think for themselves? Those ones are much harder to mold. No, Riley was perfect for my…client…back then. He needed someone smart, but not too smart, that he could turn into his personal weapon. It seems I chose well. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Holmes?" "Why now, on innocent people? Why not go after more powerful targets? There's no one significant here for you to target. Everyone she's killed so far has given you nothing but pointless death." "It's all part of the game, Sherlock. In the end…no one wins." Suddenly, a squad of cops burst into the room. Cruentus has a slightly confused look on his face until John reveals his phone from his pocket; he had 911 dialed in on their conversation the entire time. Lestrade strolls into the room with a smug expression. "Adrian Cruentus, you're under arrest for the kidnapping of Riley Holmes, the aid of five murders, and the usage of multiple false identities. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Adrian glares furiously at Sherlock. "This isn't over, Holmes. Riley is not the same naïve girl she used to be. She won't be easily persuaded against her master."

John leaves the building running after Sherlock, who's walking at a much faster pace than normal. "Sherlock, wait!" But the detective is barely paying attention, his expression grim. "Sherlock!" He whirls around to face John. "What are you doing?" "What are you talking about?" "You just found the man guilty of kidnapping your sister, and you're running away?" "I have to find her before there's another victim." "And how do you plan to do that?" "With this." Sherlock pulls Cruentus' phone from his pocket. "How did you get that?" "Grabbed it as Lestrade was dragging him from the room." "Alright, well, where are we going? What does it say?" "I don't know, I haven't read it yet. Did you hear what he said?" "When?" "Cruentus said _current_ employer, meaning he was under different orders when he took Riley. Someone took over, and I'll wager that person – and a connection between the targets – is in here." Sherlock opens the phone, figuring out the code in seconds, and quickly reads through the messages. He draws in a sharp breath, becoming quiet and looking down at the street. "Sherlock? What is it?" "Riley, she was…my only friend – other than Redbeard – before she was taken. Mycroft and I never got along, but Riley–" "We'll find her Sherlock, don't worry." "It's not a matter of finding her, John." "What do you mean?" "It's a matter of bringing her back. I can only speculate how much her mind has been warped." The pair is silent for a moment before John points towards the phone. "What's it say?" "The messages sent to this phone were written in code from an unknown number, though it's a fairly easy code to crack if you know what you're doing. Compiled together they make up a target list; all seemingly ordinary people, likely with a hidden connection to each other, except for one." "And who is that?" "The sender, Jack McCarthy. He signed his initials at the end of each message." "JM? Sherlock, those…those are the initials of–" "Jim Moriarty." "You...you think it's the same man?" "Considering the network he has and the number of murders, it's a logical explanation." "Oh my god."

Sherlock and John return to the flat, and Sherlock immediately jumps to John's laptop. "What are you doing?" "I need to find the link between Moriarty and my parents. Something in the past caused this, maybe a feud or a deal gone wrong. Whatever it is, it could be vital to bringing Riley back." Hours go by before Sherlock gives up and starts pacing across the floor. When Mrs. Hudson comes up to ask what all the fuss is about, Sherlock nearly snaps on her for interrupting his mind palace, but John walks her back downstairs and quietly explains that Sherlock's sister is alive. "Oh! I didn't know Sherlock had a sister!" "Yes, well, neither did he until yesterday." The night goes on, but the pair is no closer to locating Riley, although they start to see a similar pattern in the victims. The messages on Cruentus' phone leave no clue as to where she is. Sherlock somehow manages to spill their only carton of milk all over the floor, so John leaves to go pick up more. As he is walking out of the shop, someone comes up behind him and puts a chloroform rag on his nose.

When John comes to, he finds himself tied to a chair, wrists handcuffed behind him. It takes him a few minutes to fully wake up, but when he does he sees nothing but the circle of light created by the lightbulb above his chair. "Riley?" No answer. No movements in the dark. "Riley, I know it's you. Please, can we talk?" He hears faint footsteps behind him and turns his head, but sees nothing. "You know my name." The female voice is cool and collected, yet with a critical edge. "Yes, we found a strand of hair in your fourth victim's office." "Hmm…an unfortunate turn of events, I suppose." Riley walks back and forth behind him, her footsteps echoing in the large room. "What else do you know about me?" "Other than the fact that you've killed five innocent people?" "First off, they were not innocent. They were blackmailers whose manipulations caused the deaths of others. Secondly, I'm a master assassin, John Watson. Everything I do, I do with the purpose of delivering the most beneficial results to my master." John chuckles under his breath. "Your brothers would disagree with your methods." Suddenly, he feels the cold sting of a knife on his throat. "What did you say?" Riley's voice is low and sharp, almost a snarl. "My _brothers_? I have no brothers." "Yes you do – two of them, actually. One is quite stubborn, and I can't say much about–" "My brothers are dead." Riley steps backwards back into the shadows and starts walking around the ring of light surrounding John. "What?" " _Dead_ , John Watson. Killed in a car accident when I was six." "Who told you that?" John demands. "What does it matter who told me?" "Because whoever did is a bloody liar!" Riley struts into the light towards John, her eyes flaming and blade extending from her right hand. "Adrian is _not_ a liar. He took me in after the accident and raised me as his own daughter." "Adrian was just arrested!" Riley's eyes widen. "What?" "Arrested! For kidnapping you, carrying multiple false identities, and aiding the murders of five people." Riley steps back and studies John, but he interrupts before she can say anything. "You never found it just a little _too_ convenient that he showed up right after the 'accident'? Did he even show you any proof that it actually happened?" Riley's eyes narrow suspiciously, and she opens her mouth to respond, but shuts it just as quickly. She sits back on her heels and crosses her arms. "No…he didn't, now that you mention it." Her voice is quiet and contemplative, but her expression shifts into a cold rage. "How do I know you're not lying to me? Making that up? All of my targets have been blackmailers, so what's to make you any different?" "I'm tied to a bloody chair and at the mercy of an assassin. For god's sake, Riley, _think_ about it! Can't you _see_ the blatant lie around you?" A gun appears in her hand and is pointed at John's head. "Are you telling me my entire life has been a charade?" "Yes! Isn't it obvious?"

Riley stands there with the gun, her mind working furiously to process the story being laid out in front of her. Slowly, very slowly, her hand lowers. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a murmur. "All my life I've been told to obey or be punished. That following instructions to their exact word would give me the power to do what I wanted – all I had to do was take it." She never takes her eyes off him while speaking. John nods. "Riley, I know what you've been through." She scoffs. "How could you possibly understand?" John glares up at her. "I was in Afghanistan. One of my team's assignments was to investigate an empty bunker and make it our base of operations if possible. We started going in, but something just felt…wrong. I should've told my leader to stop, but I didn't. We went in, guns firing, and…" "And what?" John notes how interested she seems. "And…there were children inside. Seven of them. When we finally realized that, it was too late, and the shock distracted us from noticing we had been flanked. The entire operation went up in flames, and I was discharged due to leg and shoulder injuries." Riley stares at him in shock for a few moments. "I should've trusted my gut back then, Riley, but I didn't and it cost me. So I'm asking you now to please trust yours." She holds the gun at her side and nods once. "Alright, John. Suppose you are telling the truth. Answer me this – if my masters were lying to me, then what's really going on?" "Well, I don't know the full story, but–" "I do."

Riley whirls around at the new voice, a blade extending from her right glove. "Who's there?" A figure steps into the light, trenchcoat billowing behind him. Riley's eyes widen, and the blade retracts. "Sh-Sherlock?" she gasps. "Hello Riley." She takes a step forward, then stops in her tracks. Mixed emotions cross her face before it finally sets on defensive. A pair of navy blue glock 22's appear in her hands, and she points them at the two men. "No…no, this can't be real. It's a trick! You're supposed to be dead!" "Riley! Riley, listen to me! Trust your instincts," John pleads. Riley's gaze shifts to him uncertainly. "Look at Sherlock. Is he an illusion?" "You tell me." "No, _you_ tell yourself. _Look_ at him, Riley. Don't you know your own brother?" Riley glances back and forth between them before finally landing on Sherlock. "Prove it then. Tell me the truth. What happened that day?" Sherlock folds his hands behind his back, a motion that catches Riley's eyes and makes her swallow hard. "When you were six years old, a man by the name of Adrian Cruentus approached you asking you to help him find his daughter. Your - unfortunately - sympathetic heart easily complied and you went with him, only to be drugged and brought to a car. You woke up, lost and confused, in a completely unfamiliar place. Adrian told you a story about a car accident, how none of your family members survived. You were so traumatized by the sudden changes that you convinced yourself that story was true and created self-memories to block out the pain." Riley says nothing, though her hands have started shaking. "I recently discovered that the reason for your kidnapping was due to a deep-rooted hate for our grandfather. The details are highly classified, but it seems to have spurned from a Vietnam mission gone wrong." John tenses up at the words, knowing full well what they mean. Sherlock takes a pause before continuing. "As for your current situation, everything Adrian Cruentus ever told you…was a lie. Mycroft and I are still very much alive, as are mother and father. There was never any accident. You were just taken from us out of spite." Riley tilts her head to one side. "Everything you've said sounds too good to be true…" Sherlock glances at her suspiciously. "What do you mean?" "I grew up believing my only friend in the world was _dead_. Gone forever. That revenge would somehow bring him back to me. If you're telling the truth, then I guess in a sense it did, but…how can I afford to believe it?" "Would I ever lie to you…Riley Drey?"

At the mention of her middle name, Riley's arms go slack and the guns clatter to the cement floor. "W-w-what did you just say?" Sherlock starts walking up to her slowly; she can't move. "Riley. _Drey_. Holmes. My sister." There are traces of tears in Sherlock's eyes. John watches in fascination as Sherlock's stoic exterior cracks just enough for him to see real emotion underneath. Riley's gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth. "Oh my god…it-it's really you." A small smile dawns his lips. "Oh my god, Sherlock!" Riley throws her arms around her brother's neck, tears flowing from her eyes. Sherlock opens his mouth as if to deduce her current standings further, but instead burrows his face in her shoulder and hugs her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock," she whispers quietly. He draws in a sharp breath, hugging her tighter.

After a few minutes, John clears his throat, startling both of them. "Oh! Right, just a moment…" Riley uses the hidden blade in her gloves to cut the ropes holding John. She also unlocks the handcuffs, and John stands up to rub his sore wrists. "Sorry, John. Should've done that sooner." "It's fine. I would still be there if Sherlock hadn't…hang on." John looks at Sherlock with confusion. "Sherlock, how did you even find us?" "I tracked Cruentus' phone in your left pocket. Slipped it in there before you left the flat." John looks up at him dumbfounded, then scowls furiously. "You knew I would get kidnapped?" Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Riley is no fool, John. She knew we were on to her, so I simply played the innocent." "You _knew_ …I would get kidnapped?" "Yes, John, obviously. Can we focus on the problem at hand?" John makes a fist as if to punch him, but instead rolls his eyes and grumbles while Sherlock turns to Riley. "We are pursuing Adrian's employer – the man who claims to be 'Jack McCarthy.' We believe he is the consulting criminal Jim Moriarty." Riley's head snaps up. "Moriarty? Adrian said that name once, thought I think on accident, before telling me he was just another client." "No, Riley, he's an insane lunatic. He tried to blow me up once." Riley raises a brow at John. "What for?" "It doesn't matter. James Moriarty is a spider at the center of a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances. You are one of those threads, Riley, and Moriarty is no fool. He will know about your failure to kill John, and he probably expected it. So why do it? Why play your best card knowing–" Sherlock stops, his eyes flickering around the room. Riley also tenses up, and she turns looking around the room suspiciously. "Riley…run." "What?" "Run!"

An explosion at the far end of the room startles the three of them and knocks them to the ground. Sirens start wailing outside, and blue and red lights can be seen flashing from the windows near the ceiling. "Damn it, Sherlock!" Riley curses. "The cops followed you!" "It's not just the police, its Mycroft's men too." "Are you bloody joking?!" "221B Baker Street!" "What?!" "Go now or you'll never get past the blockade. We'll meet you there!" Riley turns and bolts for the nearest wall. With swift, fluid motions, she scales it and slides out a window, vanishing within seconds. Moments after she disappears, Lestrade and his squad come running into the room. John recognizes one of the men as Mycroft's. "Where is she?" he barks. "She's gone, Lestrade. You won't be able to catch her now," John explains. "You let her get away? She's a bloody murderer!" "She was working for Moriarty, Lestrade. If anyone is to blame for all this, it's _him_." Sherlock glares down at the shocked expression of the cop. "That bastard again? Bloody hell, I've had enough of his blasted games." Lestrade sighs deeply and drags his hands through his hair. "You know I can't let her off the hook, Sherlock. Whether it was Moriarty's orders or not, she's killed five people. I'm not going to let that slide." "I understand, Lestrade," Sherlock says quietly. There's a deep-rooted pain in his eyes that John has never seen, and it makes him wonder what details he's missing to this increasingly bizarre story.

Once Sherlock and John arrive at the flat, Sherlock heads straight for the bedroom. "Riley? They're gone." John hears a thud and realizes she had been underneath the bed, holding on to the bottom of the frame the entire time. Riley rolls out and sits up on the floor. "Took you long enough. I thought my arms were going to fall off before you came back." "Stop complaining." The three of them go out into the living room, and John heads to the kitchen to make tea as Sherlock heads to his chair and Riley starts pacing across the floor. "I need a plan," she mutters quietly. John walks in with a cup, noticing how she paced just like Sherlock. "Tea?" "Oh. Yes, thank you." He goes to sit in his own chair, handing Sherlock the third cup. Riley stops and looks between the two of them intently. "So. What now?" John asks. "I'm going after Moriarty," Riley snarls. "You can't do it alone. He's too dangerous." "Sherlock, I've faced more danger in a day than you have in a year. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." "He will know you're coming." "Good. I hope he's smiling when I get there so I can cut the grin right off his pretty face." John's raises a brow at her. "Dark humor, John. You get used to it." "Uh-huh…" "Riley, who was supposed to be your next target after John?" "I wasn't given one. It was supposed to end with him." Sherlock sits back, contemplating. "Interesting…a flaw? No, that's too obvious. He would never be that foolish. Unless he thought she was totally hooked. That could be an option..." "Sherlock, what are you muttering about?" John asks with a huff. "It's possible Moriarty didn't account for Riley betraying him. Riley, let me see your phone." She tosses it to him, and Sherlock spends a couple minutes reading through it. Just then, they hear a knock at the door. Riley makes a move to run, but Sherlock grabs her arm. "It's only Mycroft. I told him to meet me here." "Are you sure?" "Yes, Riley, now sit down." Sherlock leaves to fetch Mycroft, and John turns to Riley. "Did you and Mycroft get along?" "For the most part. Not nearly as well as Sherlock and I. Mycroft was always too…proper for me, but he was very intelligent. We sometimes talked in riddles to each other as a bit of a game." John nods. "What does 'illa vivente' mean?" Riley looks at him curiously. "It means 'she's alive' in Latin. Why? Who said that?" "Sherlock said that to Mycroft after he saw your name pop up on the DNA scanner." Riley chuckles. "Of course. 'Illa' was a nickname they had for me before I learned what it meant. I'm surprised he still remembers that…" They look up as the two brothers walk through the door. Mycroft pauses, his expression more surprised than John's ever seen. "Riley Holmes." A grin parts her lips and she stands up to greet him with a warm embrace. "It's been too long, Mycroft." "Indeed, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Sherlock tosses Riley's phone to Mycroft. "What do you make of it?" He unlocks it and scrolls through the messages. Moments later, his brow furrows. "Riley, these…targets of yours. Are you aware of the connection between them?" Riley glances at him uncertainly. "They were blackmailers." "Besides that." A silence takes over the room. Mycroft sighs and leans back into the couch. "I made a few inquiries after Sherlock called me, and I found the police report from the day of your kidnapping." Sherlock's head snaps up and he stares at Mycroft wide-eyed. "The victims were the witnesses," he says quickly. Mycroft nods, and Riley pales as she sinks down into her seat. "That…makes it look like Riley knew about Moriarty's plans the entire time. It makes her guilty of being innocent!" John exclaims. "In so many words, yes. Without any eye-witnesses, the jury can say Riley was working alongside Moriarty willing the entire time. Especially if he fabricates a convincing enough story, which I have no doubt he will," Mycroft confirms. "What is the point of that? Why would she be kidnapped as a child just to be thrown in jail as an adult?" John asks. "Moriarty doesn't care about the consequences, he only takes thrill in the game. That's what Adrian meant when he said no one would win in the end," Sherlock says quietly. John exhales loudly and puts his head back on his chair. When he finally looks over at the couch, he bolts upward. Sherlock and Mycroft are both lost in thought, staring off at nothing. "Riley's gone." They snap out of it and look at the empty space on the couch. Sherlock jumps to his feet and races around the flat. "Riley!" He gets to the kitchen and sees the window has been pried open. "Damn it," he mutters, slamming his hand on the counter. Sherlock grabs his coat and heads for the door with John and Mycroft on his heels. It's dark outside, nearly impossible to see without the street lights. John sighs exasperatedly. "How the hell are we supposed to find her now?" "She left this behind." Mycroft still has Riley's phone in his hand. Sherlock frowns at it. "Riley didn't need the phone to find Moriarty, which means he's left clues. What did we miss, Mycroft? There's something, _something_ that Riley picked up that we didn't. _What_?" He starts pacing across the sidewalk. _Obey or punish, follow instructions, power_ , 'All I had to do was take it', _mold, not as smart,_ 'I'm afraid my…client…', 'It's all part of the game. In the end, no one wins', _personal weapon_ … "It means something, but what? _What_ does it mean?" Sherlock grits he teeth as he paces, mind working furiously, but he pauses. "Not what…where." _Obey, instructions, 'take it', mold, not as smart, game…children._ Sherlock's head snaps up. "Oh that bastard, of _course_ that's the one place he would go." John looks at him with confusion, but Mycroft's jaw drops slightly as he comes to the same realization. "The playground." "Where she was taken?!" John exclaims. "Hurry! We don't have much time!" Sherlock shouts.

As soon as John had closed his eyes, Riley had bolted for the kitchen without making a sound and slipped out the window. After that, it was simply a matter of running across rooftops until she arrived at the park. She stays hidden up in the tree tops, moving across them silently and making sure she has a view of everything going on underneath her. This is a public place, and even though it's nighttime, there are eyes everywhere. Riley curses under her breath as she realizes there are no trees within range of the playground set that would give her a full view. She drops to the ground and moves through the shadows, scanning every location. Her brow furrows when she doesn't see anyone. _I know you're here somewhere, Jim._ Her head swivels at the sound of a door closing, and she realizes she hasn't checked the warming house. _Damn he's clever. Those cement walls are practically soundproof._ Riley climbs back up into the treetops and scales her way over to the roof of the circular building. There's a vent on the roof, but no windows except on the single door. _Hah. Whoever built this must've had murder locations in mind._ She drops to the ground once more and slowly walks to the door, pressing her back up against the wall next to it. Barely glancing inside, Riley sees a shadow move. Her blood flares and she draws her twin glocks, storming inside. The door was already open, as she had assumed it would be, and she kicks it closed behind her, never taking her eyes off her target. "You're late," Moriarty muses. Riley points the gun at him, and it clicks as she loads it. "Let's have a little chat, shall we?" "I have nothing to say to you, you cold-blooded bastard." "Tsk, tsk, tsk, such harsh words." "You kidnapped me, made me a killer, and then convinced me my brothers were dead!" "Nope! Not true kitten! I simply took over the assets that were rightfully mine, and you happened to be one of them. A perfect present dropped right in my hands." Riley scoffs in disgust at the sneer on his face. "You're sick," she spits. "Aren't we all?" Moriarty stands up from the bench he was sitting on and starts walking around the room. "You had me kill all the witnesses even though you weren't involved." "Loose ends, sweetheart, can't be having any of those. Allll the drama they would've caused? Ha! Who has time for _that_?" He approaches Riley, but she shoves both guns at his chest and he puts his hands up. "Alright, alright, play nice kitten." "Shut up." Moriarty chuckles darkly. "Aww, what's the matter?" He puts on a fake shocked face. "Kitty Riley doesn't like her pet name anymore. What _ever_ will we do?!" he shrieks manically. Riley pulls the trigger on one of the guns, and the bullet flies right through Moriarty's left shoulder. His face freezes, the shot catching him by surprise. "Oh – oh ho – ohhh no no noo, Kitten's been a baaaad girl." "Stop… _calling_ me that!" Moriarty laughs once, holding his right hand to his shoulder. However, Riley sees something appear in his left hand. Before she can react, a blinding shock courses through her neck, making her entire body convulse violently. "Aaaaagh!" The guns clatter out of her hands as she falls to her knees, her hands clawing at her neck. _Wha…?_ Her fingers brush over a rubber casing she hadn't noticed before. "The collar," she gasps. It looked like an ordinary one, and Riley had always assumed it was just a necklace accessory. Moriarty snickers, walking over to stand by her head. "Daddy's had enough of your nonsense, kitten. Now…be a good girl and come home." Riley snarls and slashes out with her right hand, hoping to stab him with her hidden blade, but the electricity comes faster than she can strike. Another bloodcurdling scream rips through her throat as her body stops responding to her will.

Moriarty kicks her in the gut – hard – and she falls over on her back. Riley is panting and sheened with sweat. Her neck is turning red, a darker ring forming on the edges of the black collar. Moriarty straddles her torso and leans over, looking down with an innocent expression on his face, though Riley knows his intentions are anything but. "You still have a job to finish." "Go…to hell," she rasps. "Mmh." His finger presses the remote button in his hand, drawing an agonized screech from her lips as she spasms on the cement. Tears have started falling from her eyes. "You know, there's one…tiny little detail you might want to reconsider," Moriarty says as he releases the button. Riley collapses, her eyes closed, and draws in short breaths as the rest of her body lays sprawled out on the floor. The skin on her throat is a sickly dark red with a few trickles of blood slipping past the collar. Moriarty kneels down next to her and grabs her roughly by the hair. He yanks her up to look at him, and she whimpers in pain before meeting his gaze. Her stomach does summersaults as she sees something darker the pits of hell in his eyes; a lust for power. "Let me tell you a little secret, kitten," Moriarty says as he trails his lips across her cheek to her ear. "If you don't do exactly as I tell you, your brothers are going to die." Unable to speak properly, Riley growls and tries to punch him. He catches her fist and gives her another shock before speaking again. "Now, now, kitten, I didn't even tell you how yet. After all, if they die, you will be the one responsible." Riley glares at him suspiciously, and he moves so their heads are level. "I made John your last target for a reason. Want to know why?" Riley stares at him silently. "Because you _knew_ he was working with your brother, and instead of doing what I told you and killing him, you let your curiosity get the better of you and had to question him instead. That warehouse you tried to hide in? Yeahh it's not very clean. The air was laced with Ricin. Nasty stuff, but it's perfect for slow, painful deaths. You're immune to that, of course – but they're not. They'll drop dead in, mmmh, three or four days." Moriarty chuckles as a single tear falls from her eyes. "You can save them if you come back to me, Riley. I have an experimental antidote for it. Not sure if it works, but it's better than nothing. Everything depends on how much you care about them." He stands up, letting Riley fall back on her elbows. She bows her head, tears flowing freely now. _I'm sorry, Sherlock…I'm so sorry._

"Riley!" John calls. He and Sherlock arrive at the playground to find it empty. Mycroft had returned to his home when they left to utilize his other resources. "They're not here." "Over there," Sherlock says as he heads to the warming house. He freezes in the doorway, nearly causing John to run into him. "Sherlock, what are you – oh my god…" On the wall opposite of them is a phrase written in blood – '48 hours.' Sherlock walks to the middle of the room and crouches down slowly, picking up the cell phone on the floor. "He surprised her." "What do you mean?" John asks. "The smell, when we first came in, was that of burnt flesh. That collar she had around her neck was no ordinary collar, though she probably never realized it. There are drops of blood on the floor near the doorway, as well as traces of gun powder, meaning she shot him either before or after he used the shock collar. My guess is before, considering Riley would've come in here armed." "So what happened? Where did they go?" Sherlock stands up straight, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Moriarty took her again – either by force, threat, or both." "Christ, Sherlock…what are we going to do?" "I don't know…and I hate not knowing."

Two days pass without a trace of Riley. Mycroft pushes all available resources towards the search, but he ends up empty handed. Sherlock spends a full day back at the warming house, trying futilely to deduce any clues about her whereabouts. John eventually manages to convince him to give it up after bribing him with nicotine patches. However, when they return to the flat, John suddenly stumbles to the floor. "John! John, what is it? What happened?" Sherlock kneels next to him and puts a hand on his forehead. "For god's sakes, John, you're burning up!" He wraps a hand around John's shoulders, holding him upright. "I-I-I don't know what happened. I felt fine this morning." "No you didn't. You've been acting strangely ever since we left that warehouse: coughing, short of breath, now a fever, and…oh my god." Sherlock whips out his phone and dials 911. "I need an ambulance and poison control to 221B Baker Street _immediately_!" "What? Poison – Sherlock, what…are…you…" John's eyes roll back and he goes unconscious. Sherlock flips. "John? John! _John_! Don't you dare! Don't you dare do this to me!" His mind races to think of a quick solution, and his eyes fall on the kitchen. He places John on the floor and runs to the knife drawer. Without a moment's hesitation, he stabs John in his right lung, and a sickly colored fluid starts pouring out. When the ambulance arrives, the EMT's find a tearful Sherlock cradling John and murmuring broken apologizes. They quickly whisk both men away, failing to notice a shadow watching them from the rooftops. "Oh Jim…what have you done?"

The next morning, Sherlock is sitting in a chair next to John's hospital bed, his red eyes watching the monitors very carefully. There's a breathing tube down John's throat and two IV's in his arms. Patches cover the red spots that neither of them had noticed earlier. Sherlock himself has a couple of them, along with nicotine patches on his forearms, but he is almost as immune to the poison as Riley is and therefore it had a minimal effect on him. Footsteps at the doorway draw Sherlock's attention away for a second, and he sees Lestrade standing there. "Lestrade." "Sherlock. I heard about John this morning when I went in. What happened?" Sherlock sighs and looks back to the monitors. "Ricin poisoning." Lestrade's jaw drops. "How the hell did that happen? That stuff is rare." "This is Moriarty's work we're talking about, Lestrade. What _hasn't_ happened?" "True." They sit in silence for a moment before Lestrade comments quietly. "You do know there isn't an antidote for it yet." Sherlock swallows hard. "Yes…I know." Lestrade sighs deeply, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "As if this isn't already bad enough, there was a…victim found last night. Harris Tetterson" Sherlock's head snaps towards him, his puffy eyes wide. " _What_?" Lestrade's brow furrows. "Same weapon. Same smudged fingerprints. Same everything except for one thing." "What's that?" "Harris survived." Sherlock stares at him, mouth agape. "Survived? How?" "I was hoping we could swing by the crime scene so you could take a look and see." Sherlock stands up to leave, but stops and looks back at John. "He's not safe here alone." "I'll have Donovan stay with him while you're gone, make sure nothing happens." Sherlock is quiet a moment, then nods in agreement before they go.

At the crime scene, Sherlock is taken aback by the amount of collateral damage to the office area. "A struggle?" "We were just as surprised. This is the first time it's happened – at least with Riley," Lestrade comments. Sherlock paces around the room for a few minutes. _Window left open, chair pushed away from the desk at an angle, victim stood up quickly, papers and pencils scattered across the floor, knew his attacker was coming, blood on the window sill…burns from the shock collar, she didn't want to attack but had to make her target look convincingly dead so she could escape…_ Sherlock goes and picks up something from a corner. Lestrade follows and looks over his shoulder at it. "That's the bullet!" "Indeed it is. Where is Mr. Harris?" "Back where we just came from." Sherlock hands Lestrade the evidence, who then puts it in a bag. "I need to speak with him immediately." "Yea, of course."

They return to the hospital and find Tetterson's room. He has an IV in his arm, and Sherlock has to mentally force himself not to compare his cheery state to John's dwindling health. "Mr. Harris, my name is Sherlock Holmes." "I've heard of you, Detective. Where's your partner? Doctor Watson?" Sherlock flinches, but manages to keep a stoic front. "He is not in good condition to be out and about, I'm afraid." "Pity. It's odd not seeing you two paired together like you usually are, but I know you're not here just to chit chat. You want to ask me about my incident last night." "Do you remember what happened?" "Oh yes, quite clearly. I was sitting at my desk filling out my last report for the night when the window behind me suddenly opened. I was so startled I jumped out of my chair and knocked almost everything off my desk. When I turned around, I thought I was looking at the devil himself, only it wasn't a he; it was a she." "What do you mean by that?" "She had the fiercest looking eyes I've ever seen. They would've been enough to kill me without all the knives and guns. I swear, I've never seen someone carrying so many weapons." Sherlock nods for him to continue, and he can just imagine John making a comment about the army. The thought brings a small smile to his lips before he realizes what he's thinking about. _Focus, Sherlock_. "It all happened so fast I don't really know what she did. Shot in the arm, apparently, and stabbed in the leg a few times. It was…strange though." Sherlock gives him a curious look. "What was strange?" "Just…the way she acted. She was no normal killer, that's for sure. That collar thing on her neck, it was…caked in blood. There were some nasty burns there." "Did she ever say anything to you?" "Well, no, not to me. She muttered something about you though. Kept saying 'This is the only way to get it.' I reckon you would know what she meant." Sherlock's eyes widen, and he promptly turns and rushes out of the room. "Wha-Sherlock, wait!" Lestrade calls. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tetterson, he has a habit of doing that." "There was one other thing, Detective." "And what's that?" "When she first came in, she said 'I'm sorry.' I've never heard of a killer apologizing before." "Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Tetterson, because that's probably the last time you will." Harris nods, and Lestrade turns to leave. "Detective?" "Yeah?" "Tell Sherlock Holmes I'm…I'm sorry about John Watson. I didn't want to say anything, but I heard some of the nurses talking and…" Lestrade sighs. "Yeah…I'll tell him, Harris."

Lestrade goes back to John's room, rubbing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. This whole case was way out of his league. "Assassins aren't even my division. How the hell do I always get dragged into these things?" He pauses in the doorway. Sherlock is sitting in the chair again, only this time his arm is extended across the bed holding John's hand. John has turned significantly paler, despite all the fluids being pumped through his body. His normally pink skin is almost as white as the bland walls of the room. The ghostly feeling of death in the air is unnerving at best. Sherlock pulls John's limp hand up to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently. Lestrade pulls back into the hallway at the sight, alarmed but slightly relieved. _About bloody time_. He leaves, steering away the nurses that are heading for the room. Sherlock closes his eyes, trying to contain the unfamiliar flood of foreign emotions in his mind. He knows Lestrade was just at the door, but chooses to ignore it. _What does it matter if Lestrade knows? He's not the first to make assumptions._ His eyes trail to John's face. How he longed to see those calm, reassuring eyes again, like the surface of the sea on a warm sunny day. John was the cane Sherlock never knew he needed: from the first day they met, John had been the one mystery he couldn't solve. Sure, they had their fights when John was being an overprotective idiot and he was being an ignorant bastard; but at the end of the day, after the thrill of a chase had subsided and blood pumping through their veins was at a normal pace again… _It could never be anyone else, John. You're the one that keeps me right in the world._ Sherlock sighs and leans forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the bed. A drop of water falls on the sheet, and Sherlock suddenly realizes there are tears in his eyes. "Damn it," he mutters as he wipes them away. High-strung emotions crawl through his mind like vines, scratching at every corner until he can't think straight. _Enough!_ He shakes his head and glowers at the sleeping John. "This is your fault," he chuckles once, though the smile doesn't last. _I can't keep doing this to you, John. You're going to get killed if you stay with me._ 'Shut up, Sherlock.' _No, I'm serious, you can't stay._ 'If I wanted to leave, I would've done it already. Plus, I never would've moved in with you if I really thought you were a psychopath.' _High-functioning sociopath, do your research._ 'You're an idiot.' _I don't know if I can stop him in time, John. And I hate not knowing._ 'You're being a drama queen.' _You're dying!_ 'Sitting here is not going to change that. The game is on, Sherlock.' _Stop trying to impersonate me, John._ 'Stop moping, you're much too brilliant for that.' _Quite right._ "Sherlock?" He jumps at the voice, and turns to see Molly Hooper standing in the doorway. He looks at her quizzically. "Was I saying any of that out loud?" "A bit." Sherlock nods, then stands and heads for the doorway. "Where are you going?" "To put an end to this game."

It is dark outside, making the cold cement room feel more like a prison than a warehouse. Riley is on her hands and knees, panting hard. She can barely move her head, and if she does, the shock collar draws blood. "Jim…stop. Please. What else do you want me to – aaaaaargh!" She screams and collapses to her stomach, rolling and writhing onto her back. "I said don't speak, kitten. Daddy's not happy with your recent performance." Moriarty kneels down by her shoulder and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "You're going to do _exactly_ as I say." Riley holds back a whimper and says nothing as the cuffs snap her wrists together. "Stand up." The movements are painful, but she does. Moriarty pulls forward, and she follows without a word until he pushes her up against a wall. He raises her hands above her head, and the cuffs click into a lock. Riley gasps. Restraints are the one thing she can't handle, and though the shock collar was one, it did not physically stop her from moving. Now she was pinned with no way of escaping. Moriarty chuckles quietly as his hands start to trail around her body and up her torso. He takes a step towards her, pushing their bodies together. Riley turns her head away, hissing at the pain in her neck, but she can do nothing to stop him. She is weak from the electrocutions of the past three days, and her legs have already begun to shake. "Oh kitten, we haven't even started yet," Moriarty purrs as his hands move to her waist. Riley whines and bucks her hips against his hands, trying to stop him, but Moriarty presses himself into her and puts a knee between her legs to hold her still. "Why bother fighting, hmm? It's not like your brother will want you back – not after all those people you killed." "Their blood – ngh – is on – haah – _your_ hands," she gasps. He grabs her chin and roughly turns her head to face him. "Is it?" A sneer spreads across his face moments before he hungrily takes her lips into his. Riley squeaks with surprise, and tries to bite him, but a cold hand on her outer thigh makes her gasp. Moriarty had pulled her pants down without her noticing and was now trailing his fingers along her inner thigh, his touch ghosting over her womanhood. Without meaning to, Riley moans, and the sound sets off Moriarty. Within seconds, his pants and boxers are down, and her panties soon follow. Helpless to move or scream due to Moriarty controlling her mouth, Riley can do nothing as he takes her. Her body betrays her the entire time, encouraging Moriarty's sinister touch to become even more malicious as he feels her up in every way possible. Once it's over, Riley wants to throw up. She is trembling like a lost child and is starting to feel like one again. Moriarty chuckles, unlocking the cuffs and letting her drop to the floor. "And think what would've happened if you had just done what I told you the first time. Ah…oh well. John Watson is still going to die." Riley spits to the side and glares up at him. "Y-you pr-promised…a c-cure." "Ohh, did I? I must have forgotten," Moriarty mocks. "I guess I owe it to him now, don't I? *gasp* But how in the world is he going to get it? I don't have it with me." Riley's eyes widen. "W-w-what?" Where–" "It doesn't matter where it is. What matters is I'm the only one that can get it. So hopefully you'll be a good girl now and do as Daddy says."

A shadow clambers across the rooftops of London, it's movements sloppy and uncoordinated. Despite the gauze on the edges of the collar, Riley struggles to scale the buildings like she normally does. Her target is the owner of the Queen's Theatre, but she has no intention of going through with her assignment. _I will break free if it kills me. You have to help me, Sherlock. I don't know what else to do._ She reaches her destination and lands on the windowsill outside the main office upstairs. Sliding her Slim Jim between the two panels, she unlocks it and sneaks inside. There is a light on the desk, but no one in sight. Riley spots a cell phone on the desk and picks it up. Just as she sends a text, the door to the office opens and a man walks in. He looks at the open window curiously, then shakes his head and goes to shut it. When he turns around, he gasps as he spots a shadowy figure. "You! You're the one who's been m-m-mur–" "Murdering people? Yes." "What – how–" "Are you going to waste time asking stupid questions or are you going to call the police?" "Call the – why would you want me to–" "Oh for god's sake, hurry up!" The flustered man shakily picks up his cell phone and dials 911, but no sooner has the call gone through than does Riley leap forward and knock it out of his hand. She smacks him across the face before he can speak, and he falls over onto his back. The phone slides across the phone into a corner. "I don't like this any more than you do, but I don't have a choice." "W-wh-what are you talking about?" Riley's face falls. Another minute passes before she throws a knife at the cell phone, and it sputters dead. She turns back to her confused target, the hidden blade extending from her hand. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock leaps out of the taxi and bolts for the doors of the Theatre. Just as he's running up the main staircase, he hears sirens and screeching tires. _She contacted the police herself? No, she…she let her victim do it for her._ Sherlock bursts up the stairs like a madman, his head whirling around as he listens. The shattering of glass catches his attention, and he rushes down the hallways towards a dimly lit room. The door is cracked ajar, and he can see Riley inside. Sherlock throws the door open and steps inside. "Riley!" She stands with her back to the door, facing her target. He is laying on his back with bruises and cuts all across his face and chest. The man looks up at Sherlock desperately. "Please, you have to help me!" "Shut up!" Riley snaps. "Riley, he wouldn't still be alive if you really planned to kill him. Tell me what's going on." She turns her head to glance behind her at Sherlock, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "This is the only way to save you, Sherlock." "I'm immune to Ricin, Riley. It did not affect me like it has John." Riley's eyes widen, and she turns around fully to face her brother. "John? Is he – I mean – is he still…" "He's alive, but I don't know for how much longer." Riley looks away, closing her eyes tightly. She shakes her head and turns to the desk, shouting in frustration and slashing her bloodied blade across it. However, as she does, the shock collar activates, and Riley screams as the electricity wracks her body. "Riley!" Sherlock steps forward, but she waves him off. "Stay away from me!" The shock knocks her to her knees. Footsteps sound outside the room as Lestrade and his squad come running in. "We got a call about – bloody hell!" He stops short in the doorway, staring wide-eyed down at Riley and the startled man behind her. "Don't just stand there, Detective. Get that man to an EMT now!" Sherlock yells. "I'm not letting her escape again, Sherlock, no way. I nearly got skinned alive last time." Their argument is cut short by another blood-curdling scream from Riley. She is on her back, writhing in pain on the floor, but they can see she's trying to fight it. Sherlock goes to kneel down next to her, and the electricity stops for a few moments. Lestrade grumbles under his breath as the EMT's come into the room, complaining about not taking them both. The victim is wheeled out, and Sherlock is left along with Riley and Lestrade. "Sherlock…I can't keep doing this. I _don't_ _want_ to," she whimpers. The words bring another round of shocks, and Sherlock looks on in distress as the wounds on her neck break open to blood. "Riley, tell me where Moriarty is." She gasps loudly as the collar stops, panting for breath. "I – huh – don't know. He was – ungh – at a warehouse before, but – ngh – probably not anymore." Riley is running out of energy as the sweat drips down her forehead. "Sherlock, I-I-I stole this…from him. B-before I left." She slowly reaches into her pocket and pulls out a light blue vial with the word 'antidote' marked on the side. Sherlock's eyes widen as he reaches to take it from her."It was – ngh – on his ankle. I…I grabbed it without – huh – him noticing." The instant it leaves her hands, Riley's shock collar activates at a much higher level than before. "AAAAAAAaargh!" She spasms violently, her whole body becoming paralyzed against its strength. Sherlock jumps back in surprise at the sight of the white sparks crackling across her neck. "Riley!" _It's going to kill her!_ Lestrade is stock still in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape. Suddenly, Riley's scream changes in tone. "You…can't…control me _anymore_!" Visible lines of electricity run up and down her arm as she lifts her hand to her neck. "Riley, NO!" Her hand slashes across her throat, and a blinding flash lights the room. Everything stops. Sherlock looks up, and sees the shock collar on the floor, sliced cleanly in two. Riley is unmoving. Without the collar to hide it anymore, the damage done to her neck can be clearly seen. "By god," Lestrade whispers from the doorway. Sherlock scrambles to Riley's side, hovering over her form while on his knees. He takes her wrist in his hand. "Get those medics in here _now_ , Detective! She's still alive!" "Right!" Lestrade says, disappearing from sight. Sherlock takes both of Riley's hands into his, bowing his head and holding her limps fingers against his lips. "It's over, Riley. You're free."

Two days later, Sherlock sits in a chair next to John's bed. The antidote Riley had stolen proved effective, and John recovered quickly. It is early morning, and sunlight from the dawns shines through a crack in the window, waking him up. "Ugh, bloody hell, my head…" he mutters. John turns his head to see Sherlock sitting there lost in thought. "Sherlock?" His voice snaps Sherlock out of his trance, and they lock eyes. "John. How are you feeling?" "Like I've been hit by the milkman's truck." They both chuckle lightly at that, but the smile fades quickly from Sherlock's face. John's tilts his head quizzically. "Sherlock, what happened the past three or four days? How long have I even been here?" "Five days, actually." Sherlock sighs, rubbing his clapped hands up the bridge of his nose. "Riley started attacking again, though not of her own accord. She had been fitted with a shock collar, which Moriarty used to cause extensive damage and force her back into his charge. She rebelled, however, and sent me a text from her most recent victim's phone before having him call the police. She attacked her target to stop Moriarty from activating the shock collar, but of course he did anyway as soon as we arrived." "She texted you the location of her attack?" Sherlock nods, and John laughs. "That must be the first time you've had the answer told right to your face instead of deducing it." Sherlock chuckles in agreement. "How is she? Riley?" "The shock collar burned through several layers of skin and damaged her nerves, but she isn't paralyzed which…is a relief, to be honest. As for psychological damage, I can't say. Her entire life has been nothing but lies, deceit, and murder. She'll be staying here at least six months." "You should be with her, Sherlock. She needs you." "No point. She's in an induced coma to speed up the healing process." "I see." A few moments of silence pass. "They're mass producing the antidote now, you know." "The Ricin antidote? That's great!" Sherlock frowns. "Hmm, yes, I suppose." John looks at Sherlock in confusion. "You _suppose_? Sherlock, there was no antidote before all this. It's a very good thing." Sherlock glares at him. "There was no guarantee it would work, John. It could've killed you." "But it didn't," John says with a shrug. Sherlock opens his mouth to argue, but is interrupted by a knock at the door.

The two men look up to see Mycroft in the doorway. "Where have you been hiding this whole time?" John asks. Sherlock glances at him, mildly surprised. Mycroft frowns. "I haven't been hiding, Doctor Watson. I've been doing some…behind the scenes work." "Your sister needed your help." "Sherlock did not need me around to bother him. I wouldn't have wanted to be in the way." "That hasn't stopped you before," John mutters under his breath. Sherlock turns in his chair to face Mycroft. "For god's sake, Mycroft, it was _Riley_ that wanted your help – not me! You could have at least _pretended_ to care." Mycroft looks at him curiously. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Sherlock stands up and glares him down. "She is our _sister_ , Mycroft. Hasn't this affected you at all?" "Don't be smart, of course it has," Mycroft snaps irritably. "Oh, _that_ takes me back. 'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one'." "I _am_ the smart one. You've been running around on a wild goose chase to save Riley while I've been tracking her employer." Sherlock's eyes narrow. "And?" Mycroft sighs. "We followed him to the border, but he–" "Don't you dare say escaped." "I was going to say fooled my agents, first." Sherlock sighs in exasperation and flops back down in his chair. "All this for nothing." Mycroft crosses his arms and looks down at Sherlock. "My dear little brother, since when have you started feeling emotions? You've always claimed to be unable to." Sherlock turns his head to glare up at Mycroft. "I don't have emotions – not on the level you're thinking of – but while I may not be capable of ever truly loving her like a brother, don't think for one…second…that I don't care about her." Mycroft sighs, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to provide more assistance during this–" "I'm not the one you need to apologize to, Mycroft. I could care less whether or not you take part." Sherlock fully turns around in his chair. "But you know, just as well as I, that Riley's emotions are stronger than either of us will ever comprehend. She will need both of us after this is all over." "It's already over, Sherlock. I cleared Riley's name and secured her a position where she will be supervised in case of any future incursions." John and Sherlock both look at him with surprise, and Mycroft half-chuckles. "So while it may _look_ like I did not partake in this family adventure, I took it upon myself to clean up the mess you two created." "You sound like their mother," John comments. "And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock smirks. Mycroft rolls his eyes. "I'll see to Riley's apology later, once she wakes from her coma. Until next time," Mycroft says with a nod and disappears from the room. Sherlock looks over at John. "Well, if there's nothing left for us to do, I'd very much like to make some tea," John says. "This isn't over yet, John, but the worst has passed."

**1 year later**

"Yes? Ah, Lestrade. Yes, what is it? Really? Yes, we'll meet you there." Sherlock pockets his cell phone. "What did he say?" John asks. "She's reached number eight." "Eight in one week? That's amazing!" "Yes, she's done rather well." They hail a taxi and drive over to Scotland Yard. Lestrade meets them at the door and leads them to a back room. Riley stands in the back corner, wearing a similar assassin outfit to the one she's always worn, but this time with a gold badge on the upper left side of the vest. There is a ring of lighter skin around her neck, scars from the shock collar's burns. She turns around, her face brightening with a smile as she sees him. "Sherlock! John!" She runs over and hugs them both tightly, Sherlock first, then John. "What are you two doing here?" "We heard the good news. Congratulations," John says. "Oh, it's nothing. I have a lot to make up for after the mess I made last year." "Riley, we've talked about this. You were brainwashed, it wasn't entirely your fault." "I still killed those people, Sherlock. I'm getting what I deserve." "Eight catches in a week is still impressive, Riley, regardless of what your idiot brother says." Riley giggles, clapping John on the shoulder. "He's not an idiot, John Watson – just a bit pig-headed sometimes." "I am not!" Sherlock barks, pouting at them as they both laugh. Riley throws her arm around Sherlock's shoulders. "Don't you just love this genius brother of mine, John?" A deep red flushes John's face, and he is clearly flustered. "Ah, well, um, h-how exactly do you mean?" Riley gives him a funny look, and turns to see her brother refusing to make eye contact with her. She's quiet for a moment, then her eyes go wide and she laughs. "Oh! Oh, you two are so funny. You thought I was seriously asking?" John and Sherlock look at her quizzically. "Weren't you?" "No! But now I'm curious to know after _that_ reaction." Sherlock reaches up and brushes Riley's arm off his shoulders, keeping his eyes locked on John's. Neither of them say anything. Suddenly, Riley's phone rings. She reaches into her pocket and looks. "Oh Christ, its mummy. She probably saw the paper and is upset I didn't tell her first. Damn, wait here boys, I'll be right back." Riley rushes out of the room and leaves them alone. A minute of silence passes. "What would you have said?" Sherlock asks quietly. "Yes," John answers without hesitation. "You?" "You're an idiot," Sherlock says, a small smile crossing his lips. John chuckles, resting a hand on Sherlock's shoulders. "Probably best if she doesn't know, hmm?" "Quite." They stand there staring at each other a few moments longer before Riley walks back in. "Christ, I have to go pay mummy a visit. Care to join me, Sherlock? She would love to see you. Says Mycroft is being a stubborn arse again and won't return her calls." "Hardly surprising. Unfortunately, I've got plans for tonight, Riley, so you'll have to go on without me. Send her my love, will you Illa?" Riley giggles. "Of course I will. You do realize if you keep calling me that, I may just start calling you Sherly again?" John bursts out laughing. "Sherly? Seriously?" "Shut up. It's just a child's name." "Well so is Illa, and neither of us are children anymore, Sherlock." "No, I suppose it's inappropriate of me to keep the only name I had of you after you were taken." Riley falls silent, her expression softening. "Sherlock…" she whispers, pulling her brother into a fond hug. "You're never going to lose me again. I promise." She glances to the side to see John casually looking around the room. "Care to join us, John?" The question catches him off-guard. "Oh no, I couldn't." "John, don't argue with a former assassin. It's unwise," Sherlock points out. John shrugs and steps into the siblings' embrace. Seconds later, Riley pulls away unexpectedly and dashes for the door, leaving John and Sherlock in a slightly awkward hug. "Have fun on your date!" she calls behind her. John turns towards the door. "Did she – how – did she really just–" "I should've seen that coming," Sherlock chuckles, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand to hide the embarrassment. John looks at him curiously, then shrugs. "It wasn't that bad of a hug." Sherlock glances up. "You enjoyed it?" "Yea, a bit. What time did you say our reservation was at?" "8:00." "Well, then we better get going before Riley gets the idea to come play 'spy'." Sherlock chuckles. "She already has. I saw the reminder on her phone." John facepalms on his forehead. "I will never understand you Holmes'." The pair walk outside, unaware of the shadow watching them from the roof, a broad grin on her face.

In a neighboring country, a man is thrown into a dark room. He can see nothing except the glow of a fireplace, the flames flickering across the charred wood. A figure stands next to it, almost their entire body remaining in the shadows. "Master." "You failed me, Adrian, and I don't like failures." "Forgive me. I did not foresee the brother getting involved." The figure turns slowly, a blade appearing in his hands. Adrian gasps, but as he starts to back away, hands reach out from the darkness and hold him in place. "What do you see, Cruentus?" "No, wait, please! Forgive me! I'll do anything!" "Anything?" "Yes! Anything! Please, I can prove it to you!" "Your words mean nothing to me anymore, Adrian, as does your lack of eyesight." The figure jabs forward, the blade slicing right through Adrian's eye, and he screams. Blood bursts from the socket as the knife stabs through his other one, and Adrian is released. He falls to his knees, wailing in pain at the loss of sight. "Get rid of him." The hidden henchmen drag Cruentus from the room, and the figure returns to the fireplace. His finger trails through the blood on the blade. "You cost me my greatest weapon. Next time, the blood will be yours…Sherlock Holmes."


End file.
